


to heaven and back

by Hannaadi88



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Afterlife, Bottom Patroclus, M/M, Reunion Sex, Top Achilles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-09 01:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20845136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hannaadi88/pseuds/Hannaadi88
Summary: Once he finally passes into the Afterlife, Patroclus embarks on a journey to find Achilles. Not everyone believes that he deserves to join him in Elysium, though.Patroclus does.





	to heaven and back

Patroclus gazes up at the tall, gilded columns. He’d never seen such a grand structure, not in any palace or agora. It was the kind of gate he’d always imagined Olympus to have- a golden marvel to set them apart from the human world.

Only there was no gate between the magnificent columns. Only a vague view of rolling green hills and a blue sky in the distance. There was no guard, no barrier. Should he step forward, it appeared that nothing would stand in his way.

Patroclus doesn’t trust this illusion. This was Elysium, after all. It couldn’t be as simple as taking a step to get in.

He lingers in front of the columns, unsure of what he needed to do. What the judge expected of him. He’d given him the chance to plead his case to Rhadamanthus, but the ruler of Elysium was nowhere to be seen.

Was there more to it than he’d originally thought? Does he need to prove himself with some sort of witty stunt?

Patroclus worries his lip as he ponders.

When Thetis had written his name in stone next to Achilles’s, for a foolish moment, Patroclus had been sure that that was it. That his long wait was finally over. That the next time he’d open his eyes, Achilles would be there, standing next to him, together at last.

But Patroclus had forgotten what every Greek child knew- that death was just the beginning of one’s journey in the underworld. There were rivers to cross, judges to appease.

And Patroclus had done just that.

While his name hadn’t been initially added to the monument, there had been enough coins buried with his and Achilles’s ashes to pay for both of their passages over the river Styx. Charon was a haunting figure, the stuff of nightmares, yet Patroclus had paid his fair and joined the group of silent men and women on the boat, waiting for Charon to take them to the other side of the river.

Despite the ominous appearance of the ferryman, Patroclus had cleared his throat and asked if Charon remembered ferrying Achilles across the Styx.

Charon had given him a blank look.

“No, son of Menoitius. Aristos Achaion had no use of my ferry.”

He’d then turned around to focus on the river, signaling the end of the conversation and leaving Patroclus with more questions than before. He couldn’t decide what’d been more unsettling- being called by his father’s name for the first time since his exile, or hearing that Achilles had not crossed the river.

What had Charon meant by Achilles having no use of the ferry?

The judges- or rather, the judge- had the answers.

“Patroclus, son of Menoitius,” Minos had addressed him from the top of the dais. The two thrones on either side of the god had been empty. Though there’d been a line of souls in back of Patroclus, waiting for their turn to be judged, Minos had peered down at him with a thoughtful hum.

“Not many names are carved in stone by the hands of a goddess.”

Patroclus had shrugged.

“I would’ve preferred a mortal’s hand if it’d meant arriving here sooner.”

Minos had laughed.

Their conversation had been short- as a judge, Minos knew every last detail of Patroclus’s life. He knew everyone’s. He’d told Patroclus that Achilles had entered Elysium the moment his name had been carved in stone. No river passage or judgement needed.

Thus was the fate of heroes.

Patroclus knew he wasn’t a hero. He might’ve killed a Trojan general and turned the tide of the war, but by the end of it, no one remembered his name. No one told tales of his deeds. He was a nobody. A nobody with innocent blood on his hands- a child’s blood.

“The other judges, Rhadamanthus and Aeacus, wouldn’t agree with me,” Minos had said slowly and leaned back in his throne, “but they aren’t here to object to my ruling. They would have me send you to Tartarus for your misdeed. However…”

Patroclus remembers how he’d held his breath.

“I will send you to the Asphodel Meadows.”

On any account, Patroclus should’ve been grateful for the judge’s mercy. But he hadn’t waited for so long to enter the underworld to continue to be parted from Achilles.

“No.”

“No?”

“No,” Patroclus had squared his jaw. “I go where Achilles goes.”

Patroclus still cannot believe that Minos hadn’t sent him to Tartarus just for defying him, yet here he was, standing at the gate of Elysium. He hadn’t been granted entry, but Minos had given him the next best thing- a chance.

“Speak to Rhadamanthus,” the judge had waved his hand, signaling for Patroclus to leave. “I doubt you will persuade him, but it will entertain me to see you try.”

So there Patroclus stands, marveling at how far he’s come and wondering how much farther he’ll have to go before he is finally able to see Achilles again.

Figuring that he’ll never know unless he tries, Patroclus walks forward, intending on crossing the threshold and walking into Elysium on his own. The moment he sets his foot between the columns, however, he is thrown back and knocks his head on the ground a few feet away.

“Who dares to walk through my gate uninvited?”

Patroclus groans and forces himself to stand up, though his primal instinct is to turn around and run. He cannot afford to be coward now, though. Not when he’s so close to Achilles.

“My name is Patroclus…son of Menoitius,” Patroclus says haltingly, unused to his father’s name on his tongue.

A figure forms in front of him of a tall, bearded man in a golden robe. The man looks down at him with a frown.

“You do not belong here. You haven’t even been judged.”

Patroclus raises his chin and pushes his shoulders back in a shaky display of confidence.

“Minos, the judge, has sent me here to speak to Rhadamanthus, ruler of Elysium.”

The man raises a brow.

“I am Rhadamanthus. For what purpose has Minos sent you?”

Patroclus takes a deep breath.

“To persuade you to let me into Elysium, sir. Minos has given me the chance to make my case to you.”

Rhadamanthus gives him a long look before shaking his head.

“Minos is punishing me for my absence,” he says sourly and just as suddenly as he’d appeared, a throne solidifies behind him and the god takes a seat. It’s an exact replica of Minos’s throne, though smaller in scale.

Rhadamanthus rests his head in his palm and waves his hand impatiently.

“Well, go on then. Make your case, son of Menoitius. I may have eternity, but I do not wish to spend it with you.”

Patroclus colors a bit and clears his throat.

“I believe I belong in Elysium, sir.”

“And what heroic or good deeds have you done to warrant a place in my fields?”

“I saved the lives of many soldiers by giving them courage in their fight against the Trojans,” Patroclus states. He’d memorized a list of the things he’d done while being guided to the gate. It didn’t come naturally to him, but for Achilles, Patroclus was willing to recite every little good deed he’d ever done.

“I killed Sarpedon, hero of Troy. And I have healed dozens of men and women who came to me for help.”

Rhadamanthus doesn’t look impressed.

“I know what you have done, son of Menoitius. And I also know that you have killed an innocent child in your youth. Why shouldn’t I send you to Tartarus this minute?”

Patroclus digs his nails into his palms. He cannot falter now. Not even when his body is trembling.

“I regret it,” he says truthfully. “And I have paid the price of disinheritance and exile for my crime. However…” Patroclus chooses his words very carefully. “While it doesn’t excuse or erase that child’s death, I have saved many other lives. I believe those lives are worth at least a pardon.”

Rhadamanthus clucks his tongue.

“Such a presumptuous mortal. Do you fancy yourself a judge, now?”

Patroclus quickly shakes his head.

“No, sir. I am merely speaking in my defense, for no one else shall.”

Rhadamanthus gives him a long look before sighing and raising his head from his palm.

“Assuming your crime is forgiven,” Rhadamanthus says slowly, “the most you may hope for is a place in the Asphodel Meadows. Elysium is reserved for those whose names survive the sands of time. And yours, son of Menoitius,” Rhadamanthus narrows his eyes, “has been forgotten.”

The panic Patroclus has been trying to subdue finally emerges, claiming every muscle in his body as he struggles not to fall to his knees.

“Please,” he begs, desperation lacing his voice. “The only reason I’m standing here in front of you is that I want to be reunited with my philatos. I am certain that he would want the same. Please,” Patroclus’s voice strains. “If not for my sake, then for his.”

Rhadamanthus cocks his head.

“You’re speaking of Achilles, aren’t you?”

Patroclus nods.

Sighing, Rhadamanthus stands up and the throne disappears.

“It’s a shame. The man does nothing but mope despite my best efforts to appease him. You are all he ever asks for,” Rhadamanthus catches Patroclus’s eye.

“Do not look so surprised, I know everything about you. About him. But I cannot allow you to enter Elysium,” Rhadamanthus says with finality. “It is not a matter of what Achilles wants. If a soul does not belong in Elysium, it simply does not belong. Elysium is meant for heroes, not for heroes and their friends.”

Then, a somewhat pitying look.

“Had you been his wife, it would’ve been a different matter altogether. But no rites connect your two souls.”

Patroclus can’t help it, anymore. He falls to his knees, shoulders shaking.

It was over.

He will never be with Achilles again.

“Can I see him?” Patroclus manages, meeting Rhadamanthus’s eyes. “Please? One last time?”

Rhadamanthus gives him an unreadable look before he steps back and motions towards the columns. There, a figure draws closer through the mist. Patroclus’s eyes widen as the all-too familiar features he’d traced with his own fingers countless times appear in sharp relief in front of the gate.

Golden hair, fanned over his shoulders. Fair complexion, unmarred by war. Defined muscles beneath a simple cotton chiton. No sign of weapons, no sign of armor.

Deep green eyes that widen with recognition.

“Patroclus?”

Tears blur Patroclus’s vision as he attempts to push himself back up to his feet. He didn’t think he’d ever get to hear that voice again.

A strong pair of arms are beside him in a flash, helping him up and pressing him close to a broad chest. They keep him upright as his knees threaten to buckle under the weight of their mutual loss.

“Achilles,” Patroclus whispers and wraps his arms around Achilles’s neck. He closes his eyes and buries his face in the column of Achilles’s throat. Even in the underworld, Achilles smells the same.

Achilles’s hold tightens around his waist, and Patroclus would’ve been content to stay in his embrace for all eternity if not for the distinct sobs and the tale-telling shake of Achilles’s shoulders.

Achilles was crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m-“

Blinking back his own tears, Patroclus gently pries himself out of Achilles’s hold. For a moment, he thinks Achilles won’t let him go, but Achilles’s arms eventually loosen and drop to his sides as Patroclus takes a step back.

His hands, however, never leave him. Patroclus cups Achilles’s face and brushes the tears away with his thumbs.

“I know,” he says softly.

Achilles stares back at him, red-rimmed eyes running over his face as if drinking him all in. The last time Achilles saw him, Patroclus suddenly recalls, was in death. Achilles hadn’t been able to watch him and his actions after he’d fallen, the same way Patroclus had been privy to Achilles’s life long after his soul had left his body.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Achilles eventually composes himself and raises his own hands to rest on Patroclus’s hips. Ever so eager to please, to make things better between them. “I know nothing will ever be enough, but I’ve got all the time in the world to try.”

Patroclus wants to smile at Achilles’s declaration, but his tears betray him. They roll down his cheeks traitorously and there is nothing Patroclus can do to stop them.

Achilles’s eyes widen in alarm and he pulls him close.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I cannot stay,” Patroclus whispers and lowers his hands to rest on Achilles’s shoulders.

“What do you mean, you cannot stay?” Achilles asks sharply. His grip tightens on Patroclus’s hips. “We’ve just been reunited!”

The tear tracks on Achilles’s cheeks have yet to dry.

“I don’t belong in Elysium,” Patroclus says quietly, though he makes no move to leave.

Achilles’s eyes narrow and he steps back.

“That’s ridiculous! Of course you belong here! Who says so?”

“I say so.”

Patroclus and Achilles turn to look back at Rhadamanthus, whose presence they’ve almost forgotten. He steps back out of the shadows and peers down at them.

Patroclus notes that the god appears to be taller than before.

“Patroclus, son of Menoitius, does not belong in Elysium, Achilles, son of Peleus. You must part ways and accept your fate.”

“I refuse!” Achilles steps in front of Patroclus, in what Patroclus is certain is an unconscious attempt to shield him from Rhadamanthus’s ruling.

“Patroclus belong with me, wherever I am! Does my fame not warrant it? Or is the title of ‘hero’ meaningless these days?”

Rhadamanthus shakes his head.

“Your heroic acts and reputation grant and secure your place in Elysium, Achilles, son of Peleus. You belong here. It does not extend, however, to friends and comrades- however close they may be.”

“And what of his own deeds?” Achilles insists. “Surely they are the actions of heroes?”

Rhadamanthus shrugs.

“Perhaps,” he says stiffly, “but his name is not remembered.”

Achilles remains silent for a moment before crossing his arms and jutting his chin. Patroclus’s eyes widen in alarm. He knows that look, he’s seen that posturing before. Achilles was going to be stubborn.

The last time he’d done this, it had eventually led to Patroclus’s death.

“Then so be it,” Achilles snaps. “If Patroclus doesn’t belong in Elysium, then I do not belong here as well. I go where he goes.”

For the first time since Patroclus had met him, Rhadamanthus seemed to be taken aback.

“What?”

“I said, if Patroclus cannot stay, then I will not either. I shall leave with him.”

“But that’s not possible,” Rhadamanthus frowns. “You belong in Elysium, Achilles, son of Pelus. This is your destiny.”

Achilles shrugs and looks back to meet Patroclus’s eyes. He smiles and takes his hand.

“No. Patroclus is my destiny. If you won’t let us both in, then take us to our new home.”

Rhadamanthus’s eyes flash.

“You will not defy me nor my judgement!”

Achilles stiffens.

“I will do as I please,” he says crisply and brings Patroclus’s hand to his lips.

Patroclus holds his breath, torn between fear of Rhadamanthus’s temper and the warmth from Achilles’s insistence that they remain together. He takes a step forward to stand next to Achilles as they both silently watch Rhadamanthus and wait for his reply.

The longer they wait, the more Patroclus’s confidence wavers. His grip on Achilles’s hand tightens and for a moment, he considers falling to his knees again and pleading for mercy. Achilles might be above it, but Patroclus isn’t. On principle.

Rhadamanthus’s words save him the ordeal.

“I’ll allow it,” Rhadamanthus finally says, though his expression is pained. “Achilles, son of Peleus, cannot spend eternity in the Asphodel Meadows. The gods wouldn’t allow it.”

Excitement and relief well in Patroclus’s chest. Wide smiles spread on both his and Achilles’s faces, but when Patroclus opens his mouth to thank Rhadamanthus, the god raises his hand to silence him.

“Now go before I come to my senses and change my mind.”

Patroclus turns his head and meets Achilles’s gaze. He’s holding back laughter, and he can tell Achilles is too. He’s certain that Achilles is about to turn and break into a run, tugging him between the columns and into Elysium.

Instead, Achilles quickly leans forward and scoops Patroclus into his arms, carrying him over the threshold and through the gate.

Patroclus laughs and wraps his arms around Achilles’s shoulders, holding on tight as Achilles runs through the mist. The blue sky and green hills that Patroclus had glimpsed before suddenly appear and the mist is gone, as if it had never existed. Achilles slows his pace and Patroclus takes advantage of it, taking in the scenery with wide eyes.

He’d only wanted to enter Elysium to be with Achilles, but he cannot help but appreciate the full meaning of being granted entry to a hero’s afterlife.

It was beautiful. More beautiful than anything he’d ever seen while alive.

Patroclus is so taken with the rolling hills and fields that he doesn’t notice at first that they’ve stopped. It’s only when his gaze returns to Achilles that he realizes that they aren’t moving anymore.

He looks around, taking in the jewel-colored lake they’d stopped next to, before meeting Achilles’s eyes once more.

“Where are we?”

“This is my favorite spot,” Achilles states and lowers them both to the ground. He doesn’t move to push Patroclus off of him, and Patroclus doesn’t feel the need to, either. He adjusts himself in Achilles’s lap, turning to face him and loosen his hold around Achilles’s neck.

Finally.

“That was very brave of you,” Patroclus says quietly and gently tugs on a strand of golden hair. He twirls it around his finger. “Saying you would leave with me, wherever I was sent. I could’ve been headed to Tartarus.”

Achilles beams at the praise, but his smile is soft as lowers his hands to Patroclus’s hips.

“I would’ve preferred to spend the rest of eternity with you in Tartarus than to stay here alone. No torture can compare to it.”

Achilles’s tone is light, flirtatious, but Patroclus can tell that there was truth behind it. He’d seen Achilles grieve for him. He’d felt the same way.

A hand on his cheek brings Patroclus back to the present as he looks into Achilles’s eyes.

“I do not deserve the happiness you bring me. Not after what I did.”

Patroclus raises his hand to cover Achilles’s and shakes his head.

“You were in the wrong,” Patroclus says simply. “You were prideful and stubborn, and your choices cost the lives of many men and women. Including my own.”

Achilles winces, but Patroclus continues firmly.

“I have seen you mourn, and I know that you love me. I know that you regret your actions, despite the prophesy foretelling them. And… I forgive you.”

Achilles blinks.

“That is all?”

Patroclus’s lips quirk in a smile and he lowers his hand.

“We’re both dead, Achilles. Both of us have wanted nothing more than to be reunited. We have both suffered. I see no need to continue our suffering by alienating myself from you in anger.”

He watches in amusement as Achilles chews thoughtfully on his lower lip.

“But surely there is something you want? Something I can give you? Something to make it up to you?”

Patroclus leans back and looks at Achilles, considering.

“You have given me eternity in Elysium,” Patroclus points out. “That’s not to be taken lightly.”

Achilles waves his hand impatiently.

“Yes, but that was out of pure selfishness. I wanted you here with me. Now, I want to do something only for you.”

A memory flashes in Patroclus’s mind. A dark, agile swimmer hit by an arrow and sinking into the waves.

“…in that case,” Patroclus runs his hands over Achilles’s arms, “I should like you to inquire about Briseis.”

Achilles stiffens.

“Briseis? She is dead?”

Patroclus tilts his head.

“I cannot be sure. Your son’s bow might’ve killed her. Even if she is dead, I do not know if she’d entered our underworld. She had her own gods, you know. But…”

Patroclus meets Achilles’s eyes.

“But if she has died, and is somewhere in this realm, I should like for you to try and bring her here as well.”

Achilles looks at him silently for a long moment. Patroclus waits for him to object, to state that his request was near impossible. That Rhadamanthus will not be persuaded twice.

But Achilles gives a short nod and lowers the hand on his cheek, rubbing his thumb over Patroclus’s throat.

“It shall be done. I swear it.”

Warmth floods Patroclus’s veins and he surges forward, pressing his mouth to Achilles’s. Achilles makes a low sound in the back of his throat and leans into the kiss, hungrily searching for more. His hand smooths down the front of Patroclus’s tunic until he reaches his hips. Then, reunited with its twin, both hands go even lower, squeezing Patroclus’s thighs on either side of his legs.

Patroclus doesn’t sit idly in Achilles’s lap. Not when he can finally touch him again. He doesn’t know where to start, and his hands roam across Achilles’s chest and broad shoulders, restless and greedy. He grinds down with a gasp as Achilles squeezes his thighs.

“I cannot begin to describe how much I’ve missed you,” Achilles says breathlessly as he breaks their kiss. Patroclus doesn’t miss his lips for long, as Achilles immediately latches onto his neck, peppering his skin with bites and kisses.

Patroclus wonders how long the marks they leave will remain visible. Will there be any marks at all?

“You don’t need to- I’ve missed you more,” Patroclus replies with a grin, raking his nails down Achilles’s back as he tilts his head, granting Achilles access to the column of his throat. He gazes up at the blue sky and inhales sharply as Achilles sucks a bruise into his skin.

Achilles returns the grin as he slides his hands beneath Patroclus’s tunic to grasp between his legs. Patroclus gasps as Achilles finds his length and gives it a gentle squeeze.

There was something Patroclus always found intoxicating about a man with the strength of a god holding and touching him like he was something precious. Something to be treasured.

“Achilles,” Patroclus moans as Achilles flicks his wrist, setting a slow and languid pace as he strokes him. Patroclus rolls his hips and smiles in satisfaction as he feels a matching hardness greet him from beneath Achilles’s chiton.

Oh, how he’d missed riling Achilles up.

It appeared that Achilles was thinking the same thing, as his grip suddenly tightened and his thumb gently brushed over the head of Patroclus’s length.

“Ngh!”

Patroclus leans forward, hiding his face in Achilles’s hair as Achilles continues to move his thumb with a low chuckle. By the time Achilles releases him and leans back, Patroclus’s limbs are trembling and he can feel the heat radiating from his cheeks.

“You’re beautiful,” Achilles murmurs and presses a lingering kiss to the corner of Patroclus’s mouth.

“Tell me I can have you.”

“I’m already yours,” Patroclus immediately replies, heart bursting at the bright smile Achilles shines him with in return.

For a moment, he’s reminded of the sunny afternoons they’d spent together on the beach, watching the waves with lazy satisfaction.

Achilles guides him onto his back and Patroclus follows his directions, taking the opportunity to yank his tunic over his head and lie bare on the cool grass. Achilles’s eyes follow his every movement and he’s quick to imitate him, stripping his chiton and climbing on top of Patroclus.

Patroclus’s pulse quickens as he notes Achilles’s predatory gaze roaming over his body, fingers reacquainting themselves with dips and curves.

When Achilles leans back and situates himself between Patroclus’s legs, however, Patroclus raises himself onto his forearms and gives Achilles a questioning look.

“Don’t you need to-?”

“There is no pain in Elysium,” Achilles quickly replies and presses a kiss to the inside of Patroclus’s thigh. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” Patroclus says and swallows thickly. He watches with bated breath as Achilles guides himself inside of him and Patroclus gasps at the sensation.

A little tight, perhaps, but no pain. Just like Achilles promised.

And when Achilles rocks his hips, Patroclus curves his back with a moan.

During his time lingering at their grave, Patroclus had often wondered what their reunion would look like. How Achilles would touch him. Would he be gentle, careful and loving? Or rough, fierce with passion and desperation?

The truth was neither.

The truth was both.

Achilles alternates his pace, slow and thorough while a moment later quick and hard. Patroclus loves every moment of it.

He loves how Achilles grunts his name every so often, digging his nails into his flesh and then running over the crescent marks soothingly. He can’t get enough of the way Achilles meets his eyes and leans down to kiss him, more tongue and teeth than lips.

By the time Patroclus’s muscles tense, seconds away from release, his body is littered with bites and bruises. With the memory of tender kisses and heated touches.

“Achilles,” Patroclus’s voice is strained. He wraps a hand around his length, squeezing the base in an attempt to hold out for just a bit longer.

Achilles looks down at him with a lidded gaze, beads of sweat rolling down his neck.

“I’m close,” Achilles grunts, and Patroclus moans in agreement.

“Together?”

“Together.”

Patroclus watches as Achilles comes undone, releasing inside him, and is quick to follow. His stomach is immediately covered with his own cum, and he can feel Achilles’s trickle down his thighs and onto the grass once he pulls out.

And then promptly collapses on top of him.

“H-hey!” Patroclus laughs, though the air had been punched out of his lungs. “Get off of me, you’re heavy and sticky!”

Achilles makes a noncommittal sound and refuses to budge.

After a minute of playfully trying to push him off, Patroclus gives up and leans back down on the grass with a grand sigh. His lips curve in a fond smile as Achilles noses his neck and rests there, closing his eyes. Patroclus threads his fingers in Achilles’s hair and looks back up at the blue sky. A gentle breeze caresses their bodies.

Maybe death wasn’t the end, Patroclus thinks as he gazes back down at his dozing philatos.

Maybe death was just the beginning. 


End file.
